Sortings
by Realmer06
Summary: Four children, four Houses, four Sortings.


Hello, all! I come bearing a (slightly late) Christmas gift for you all, to officially break my hiatus!

My freshman year of college, I met three of my best friends, through Harry Potter. The four of us quickly realized that we were each one of the four houses, and began to call ourselves The Hogwarts Four. We've all graduated now, but we've stayed close, and for Christmas this year, I wrote each of them an incredibly short fic - the Sorting of their favorite character from their House (And yes, my House's is the longest, but it's not my fault! Luna rambled.).

So, to Maggie, Katie, and Heidi, my Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff, Merry Christmas!

_I._

As he walked up to the front of the Great Hall after his name was called, he found himself nervous, and that irritated him beyond belief. Bad enough that he'd gotten more and more homesick as the train moved away from London – more than he would ever willingly admit – but to be nervous about his Sorting on top of that? Completely unfair.

But he'd been operating under the assumption, somehow, that your family determined your House. After all, both sides of his family had been in Gryffindor for generations; he'd always thought they'd take one look at his name and chuck him there, too. But having to be _measured_? Having to go up there and prove to a _hat_, of all things, that he _deserved_ to be in Gryffindor? That was something else entirely. He didn't feel particularly brave, for one thing. What if the Hat put him somewhere else? What if he was the first Weasley in generations to land somewhere other than Gryffindor? What if he got separated from Fred?

_Oh, buck up, George!_ he told himself firmly as the Hat slid over his head. _You're a Weasley. You'll end up in Gryffindor, like everyone else._ But even that wasn't a terribly heartening thought, as he now realized he _wanted_ to earn a place in Gryffindor, not just be shoved there because he was another Weasley.

_Relax, young Mr. Weasley,_ came a voice in his head. _I Sort every student based on his or her own individual qualities, strengths, and shortcomings, not on name or pedigree or the placement of any who came before. And, as a point of interest, you are mistaken about your entire family for generations being in Gryffindor. Your great-uncle on your mother's side was a Hufflepuff, and your thrice-great grandmother on your father's side was a Ravenclaw. Not to mention the countless cousins and marriage lines that connect you to every House. But enough of the past; shall we to your own Sorting?_

Wordlessly, George agreed.

_Very well,_ the Hat said. _You have a great deal of intelligence, and a shrewd and sharp mind. But you engage those gifts in trickery and pranks. You have a fun spirit and are sensitive to the needs and desires of others. But what defines you most is your devotion, Mr. Weasley. You are fiercely loyal and would risk anything if those you loved were in danger. It is this quality that places you._

_Places me where?_ George asked hesitantly.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

_II._

She tripped on the way to the front of the Hall. That in itself wasn't unusual; she tripped over things on a fairly regular basis. It drove her mother mad. She'd lost track of the number of times she'd heard, "Nymphadora, if you'd just pay _attention_ once in a while, you wouldn't be so _clumsy_!" Never mind the fact that anyone could avoid falling down if they were paying attention; it was what happened when you _weren't_ paying special attention that defined you as clumsy.

No, what was unusual about tripping up the stairs on the way to be Sorted was that she _had_ been paying attention, determined not to fall on her face in front of the whole school, to avoid being known as "that girl who fell on her face at her Sorting." But it hadn't done any good, and her excitement over the Sorting had overtaken her and she'd tripped anyway.

_Didn't fall, though,_ she thought brightly as the stifled laughter died away and the Sorting Hat slipped down over her ears. _That's something._

_It is something, indeed,_ a voice responded in her head, and she gasped aloud.

_H–hello?_ she thought tentatively. She was met with a deep chuckle, which was mildly disconcerting considering she couldn't actually hear it.

_Hello, Nymphadora Tonks._

_Just Tonks,_ she thought firmly. Now that she was someplace where she had control over how she was introduced, she was determined to avoid being called the name she so hated.

_Very well. Hello, Tonks. Shall we place you in a House?_

_Yes, please._

_I see a lot of enthusiasm,_ the Hat began. _Enthusiasm and optimism. You steadfastly work to find the good in every situation. There's fierce determination and a refusal to give up, and with those, a stubborn streak a mile wide. Gave your mother plenty of headaches, I'll bet._ Tonks just smiled sheepishly under the Hat. _There is only one place for you, Tonks. That dedication and stubborn determination will serve you well in your new home._

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

_III._

Her name had to be called three times at her Sorting because she had gotten caught up in identifying the constellations in the enchanted ceiling above them and had forgotten she was supposed to be listening for her name. But Ginny Weasley elbowed her in the side to get her attention, and she flashed a friendly grin at Professor McGonagall and skipped up to the stool.

_Hello!_ she thought at the Hat as soon as it had slipped over her eyes.

_Well – hello, Miss Lovegood,_ the Hat said, slightly taken aback.

_You sound surprised,_ Luna observed.

_It isn't very often that a student says hello to me,_ the Hat told her.

_Well, that seems rather rude,_ Luna said. _Just because you're a hat doesn't mean they shouldn't be polite._ The Hat chuckled.

_It has been my experience that most students are simply overcome with nervousness about their Sorting._

_Really?_ It was Luna's turn to sound surprised.

_Really,_ the Hat said. _Most students worry immensely over which House they shall find themselves in._

All _of them?_ The Hat chuckled.

_A great deal of them._

_I see,_ Luna said thoughtfully. _And do you remember every student you've ever Sorted?_

_I do._

_And have you ever Sorted anyone into the wrong House?_ The Hat was quiet for a long moment after that question, and when it spoke again, its voice was quieter and far more reflective.

_It is important to remember,_ it said softly, _that Sorting is an imprecise art. It does not truly have rights and wrongs. I weigh the qualities I see in a student when they sit before me. But people change, and though I have been enchanted with great powers, the ability to see the future is not one of them. Few are the same at seventeen as they were at eleven, which is as it should be. But I try to see a student's potential, and I do the best I can._

_I understand,_ Luna said. _Or at least, I think I do._

_Shall we Sort you, then?_ the Hat asked.

_Of course,_ was the young girl's reply.

_Have you a preference?_ the Hat asked.

_Oh, not really,_ Luna thought, as if this wasn't important in the least. _Any House will do. After all, I'm sure everyone has qualities of all four, and it's more important that we learn to balance them, isn't it? Otherwise, we divide ourselves too much._

Again, the Hat was silent for a long moment. Then it said, _You are one of the wisest eleven-year-olds I have spoken to, Luna Lovegood, and I wish I had the time to get to know you better. And that, believe me, is something I have rarely said. You are right, by the way. You have qualities of all four Houses in you, but it is clear to me that there is one House to which you are best suited._

_I look forward to being placed there,_ Luna said politely. _And I wish I had the time to get to know you better as well._

When asked about it later, Luna would swear that she had felt the Hat smile before it shouted,

"RAVENCLAW!"

_IV._

The Sorting Hat only spoke to students who first spoke to it; that had been a rule almost from the beginning, and Draco Malfoy was not one of those students. It was clear before the Hat was even placed on his head that he regarded it as a tool rather than a sentient being with which to have a conversation. He wasn't alone in this; most students fell along similar lines. The difference was Draco Malfoy's confidence.

When Draco approached the Sorting Hat, he fully expected to be Sorted into Slytherin because the possibility of being place anywhere else simply didn't exist for him. He was a Malfoy. He was a Slytherin.

It was his ambition that secured his place in that House, the ambition that positively radiated off of him. He would make it in this school, become his parents' image of a perfect  
Slytherin son because he had to. There was no other possible outcome.

The Sorting Hat didn't experience much in the way of emotions. It recognized them, certainly, recognized nervousness and excitement and disappointment as it encountered them from the students it Sorted. But it rarely experienced emotion itself. It took a very special kind of student to elicit emotion. Draco Malfoy was one of those rare students.

Regret was the emotion that flooded the Hat after Draco Malfoy's Sorting. Because the boy was so clearly a Slytherin, but driving all that overwhelming ambitions was a desperate need to prove himself. He _needed_ his father's approval, _needed_ to be that perfect son. He didn't even realize it yet.

Slytherin had become synonymous with bully somewhere along the line, but it hadn't always been that way, and in the brief moment that the Hat sat on Draco Malfoy's head, it could see that the boy embodied the core of Slytherin House – ambitious, but also clever, practical, pragmatic. Proud.

_Hold fast to those qualities,_ the Hat said to itself, wishing it could say them to the boy. _Fight through the stereotypes and the need to fulfill them. Fight through them so that, someday, you can become a true – _

"SLYTHERIN!"


End file.
